The Journey
by Macbeth Mouse
Summary: The journey of a lifetime begins with one small step.
1. Someday

The rough leather pressed further upon the knot of his spine as he squirmed. A man above him cackled and applied further pressure to where aforementioned man began and he began. It was crippling and very agonising pain, but there was not a thing he could do about it. The man causing him pain was a knight, and a knight could put his boot in the ass of any Senchléithe he wished.

Merlin, yes, that was the boy's name, longed to push the man off of him, to fight back. He knew that he could have done it with ease, too. They would kill him if he even tried, however, and it wasn't just because he had dishonoured a knight. A bounty would have been placed on his head for imploring techniques made forbidden by the king: magic.

Though he was far from a sorcerer of the old ways, Merlin was indeed gifted with something powerful and unlike any other. Since a young age, he had passed the unusual things that happened to him off as just his imagination, but now, at almost 23 years old, he could no longer deny it. Merlin definitely most definitely had magic, and it was powerful, even if he could not use it. Despite the fact that he could very well be paralysed, Merlin endured the torture for that very reason.

"Oh, come on, you're not fun!" The knight (his name was Sir Robert) put more weight onto the foot, causing Merlin to cry out in agony. Sir Robert pressed for only moments longer before he, satisfied with what he had done, let Merlin free from his trap.

"Next time," Sir Robert threw over his shoulder, "Leave the bravery to us knights." The knight barked a hearty laugh that lingered long after he could not be heard. Suddenly, the tense atmosphere that had previously enslaved the surrounding area was lifted. All the townspeople who had stopped to look on in horror went back to their daily routines. It was as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

A woman rushed to his side, breaking his stupor. "Merlin!" she shouted right into his ear. "You need to keep yourself from getting in fights, especially with the knights. You could have been killed this time!"

He fluttered his hand her way as she tried to help him up. Merlin could do this on his own, as he always had. Standing up, he took a serious surveillance of the location. "And what would you have rather me do: just sit by and watch as he stole all these people's worth?"

"Quiet down," she shrieked. People were starting to stare at them again. "And yes, if that would mean your safety."

"Morgana!" Merlin threw his hands in the air to show his exasperation. It was unnecessary, but he felt the need to do it nonetheless. "How can you expect me to not do anything while these people slowly starve? You know as well as I do that I can stop this," he said darkly.

She gave him a pained look. "I know, Merlin, I know." Morgana was his oldest friend and companion, as well as a witch herself. If anyone was going to understand how he felt, it would be Morgana. However, she could only understand to an extent, for Merlin's powers far surpassed her own. While she was limited to petty levitation and foresight, Merlin could bring down a fully armed man with a single thought. That was something both of them were certain was abnormal, but neither had the willingness to talk about it.

Someday

Their conversation over, Merlin and Morgana remained silent as they walked through the heart of the town. No longer were others peering to get a look at the odd couple, but Merlin still felt as if _someone_ was watching them. He kept looking over his back to try to catch the culprit, but none could be found. The feeling only worsened as they entered the town's edges. For the most part, this area was unprotected from the safety of the knights who supposedly upheld the law in the fiefdom. Riddled with crime, he thought as he walked closer to Morgana.

Finally, they were far enough out of town for Merlin to tell that, no, they were not being watched, at least not any longer. The both of them breathed a sigh of relief when they saw on the horizon a cold little shack built for livestock. They called it home.

By the time they had reached the shelter, night had long since been upon them. The first thing Merlin did when they stepped inside was wordlessly start a fire in the pit that was at the centre of the single room. It allowed them light enough to ready themselves for bed, as well warmth for them to sleep steadily.

In spite of this, Merlin found he was unable to sleep hours later. He lay there and stared at what was supposed to be a ceiling, but was instead moulded wood with holes in it. If he focused on the dark background behind it, he could see the stars perfectly aligned. Though he was not as learnt as a scholar was, Merlin knew each one of the constellations by heart. His mother had taught him. That was what he imagined, at least. In reality, it was most likely one of the elder servants who had told him of the tales the ancients had told.

Breathing in ever so slowly, he wondered of everything in history, why he was there at that exact moment. Was it destiny? Or just chance? Merlin didn't believe in destiny, however, so it must have been chance. He wanted a second opinion on the matter.

"Morgana," he whispered into the dark. "Are you awake?"

"Hmmm yes. Guess I am now." Merlin could hear shuffling in the poor excuse for bedcovers they shared. "What do you want?"

"What do you think is brought us here?"

Morgana huffed. "Merlin, don't you think it's a little too late for philosophy?"

"I just, was wondering. Why here? Why now?"

"I don't know Merlin, now go to sleep." Some more shuffling and Merlin presumed that meant she had rolled back over. He, meanwhile, propped himself up on his elbows.

"I mean, if we don't even know what brought us here then… What's keeping us here? We could just leave and go where ever we want, and it wouldn't matter a tick. We could go to Alba, where the druids live, where _magic_ lives, and the world would be indifferent."

Morgana turned over a third time, only to face him now. "You can't seriously believe that we can just leave. Merlin, that's the whole meaning of being a Senchléithe; we're tied to our land, and to our lord. If we try to leave, then -"

"Then what?" he interjected. "Sir Robert will hunt us down like sport and kill us? He won't be able to. Not with your wit and my magic. We're unbeatable, Morgana. All we have to do is try."

"Merlin, you aren't speaking with any sanity. We'll talk about this come tomorrow when you're head is clear." Merlin grudgingly quieted down and laid his head on the ground. They both knew they wouldn't mention it again.


	2. One World

By the light of the moon and the guidance of the stars, he moved. Swiftly, his feet took him as far as they would go, before he collapsed right at his destination. The young man saw the object of his desire and took it into his arms, cradling it with the utmost of care. This gem was the most important thing he had ever taken, and the most valuable. The rightful owners must not awaken this night, or he would certainly face death.

Guiding his arms gently back and forth, he calmed the child down. Daring not to make a sound, be brought the beautiful child to his breast to comfort her. Soon enough, she had stopped crying, and the danger had passed. The child was asleep once more, and he could rest knowing she wouldn't wake her mother and father.

Slowly, the boy placed her back in the nest that he had taken her from. She looked so peaceful when she slept. He smiled a small smile, one saved just for moments like this, before he departed.

The boy called Arthur padded drearily to the encampment that lay between his patron's citadel and the surrounding village. It was an unfavourable night to have been walking such a distance, but Arthur had little choice. He was in charge of the young Lady Órla, and that meant making certain her parents never knew she was beneath their noses. So if, on the off chance, she had another of her reoccurring night terrors, Arthur was the one tasked with calming her down by any means necessary. Wouldn't want Lord Blackthorn or his wife to awaken to their crying child, now would he?

Careful not to disturb the flora on the ground he walked upon, Arthur made a mental note to take the longer route later on, as he did not want to usurp Lady Blackthorn's precious plants, even if it would mean having to walk an extra few metres in the rain. Certainly, he would be up and about once more; checking on Órla and making certain her lungs did not wake the entire villa.

Years ago, he would never have thought he would end up being no more than a servant. A much younger Arthur dreamt of being a freeman, perhaps a blacksmith. Yes, being a blacksmith had sounded wonderful. Arthur did enjoy the feel of fire surrounding his hands, and the rough sound of steel against steel. However, those days were much too long ago, and he could now wish for nothing more than living a comfortable life serving his lord. Secretly, Arthur _did_ wish for more. He could not say a word to anyone about his longings, for it would mean certain death.

Arthur was a wizard. Or, at least, he had magic. Whether that made him a proper wizard or not, he did not know. But he did know that having magic made him special and a danger to himself. If anyone at all knew of his powers… He didn't like to think of what would happen then.

His greatest ambition, what Arthur yearned for more than anything else, was to head to the land of Alba, where magic ran free. This desire was pure folly, for he was not the young boy he used to be, and feared he could not make the venture alone, completely disregarding the fact that he was bound to Lord Blackthorn by oath.

For now, as Arthur walked through the threshold and right into his cot, he could only dream of waking up the next morn better rested than he could imagine.

Arthur awoke to the sound of filth sloshing around his shelter. It wasn't the most pleasant way to return from unconsciousness, but it was not the most deranging, either. Quickly gathering his things, he entered the outside world to see a dreaded sight.

Soldiers were everywhere, treading through the mud and trampling the flora. For once, it didn't even pass through his mind at what the Lady Blackthorn would think as he weaved his way in and out of the line of men. None gave him strange looks, for they were all too busy doing whatever it was they were doing to pay him any mind.

Once the small army was out of sight, Arthur ran back the same pathway he had taken the night before; the path that would take him right to young Lady Órla's chambers. He arrived in a matter of moments, and reached out to touch the fragile door. It fell off of its hinges and onto the ground.

His worst fears were realised ‒ Lady Órla was no where to be seen ‒ and without thinking, Arthur raced toward the dining hall, where, surely, Lord Blackthorn and his wife would be waiting with an explanation.

He arrived just in time to see their beheading.


End file.
